The Devil You Know (28 page)

Off
to her left, a short blonde in a red and white striped sweater started moving
toward the man, and Marie stepped quickly to cut her off. Doing so put her in a
position of having to speak to him before she was ready, but she could not
afford to let him get away.

“Excuse
me,” Marie said when she was a few feet away. Out of the corner of her eye, she
saw the other woman stop short and then turn away, disappointed but safe.
Marie’s heart was pounding, and she was sure her face was flushed, but she knew
that might serve her well. The man looked her in the eye again, and in spite of
herself she felt an alarming sense of warmth and desire. She made herself picture
Elise as she was now—with her tan coveralls and tangled ponytail—and
the feeling abated slightly. “I saw you from across the way, and I couldn’t
help but think…You’re not…?”

The
man smiled. “No,” he said. His voice was deep but smooth. “I hear that a lot,
though. You look like a movie star yourself, you know.”

“Really?”
she was able to say with a giddy, nervous laugh. “Who?” Before he could answer,
she pressed on, saying, “Folks back home used to say I look like Rita Hayworth,
only with the hair not quite the same. Do you think I look like her?” She
smiled and looked up at him as she said it.

He
made a show of scrutinizing her features for a moment, and said, “As a matter
of fact, you do. It’s funny you should say that. It’s just who I was thinking
of.” He reached out a hand, as he said, “You can call me Trent.”

She
shook his hand and said, “Betty.”

“Now
tell me, Betty, just where is back home?”

“Nebraska.”

“And
you’ve been in Los Angeles long?”

Marie
shook her head. “Just a few weeks. Long enough to get settled.”

“So
you live near here?”

“I
do,” she said, not too surprised at how quickly he was working. He had turned
so they were side-by-side right after shaking hands with her, and then he had
started walking toward the sidewalk, silently expecting her to fall into step
with him.

“And
what brings you to Hollywood?” he asked.

Marie
looked up, her eyes and smile both wide. She tried to give him a sense of how
speechless the whole place made her. Then she said, “It’s just so…Gosh! I don’t
know how to explain it. It’s so much more than I ever thought it would be. You
walk around and see all the things you’ve seen in the movies, and the movie
stars, and….Well, I was hoping. It’s just not going to happen, I know, but
still.”

“You
were hoping the right person would see the Rita Hayworth in you, weren’t you?”

She
smiled sheepishly and looked to the ground, exaggeratedly showing that he had
found her out. “Pretty foolish, isn’t it?”

“Not
foolish at all. You know, I do know some people in the business who might be
able to give you a sense of whether or not you’ve got a chance.”

“Go
on! You do not!”

“I
do.” They had reached the sidewalk now, and he linked his arm in hers.

His
touch made her feel suddenly flushed, a feeling of warmth spreading across her
body and giving her a mild feeling of euphoria. But even as the sensation
washed over her, she told herself that this was how he did it, the first step
in seduction that would make women completely forget themselves and be driven
to madness or death to keep that touch—and more—coming. It was not
hard to make a show of acting uncomfortable at his quick familiarity with her,
but then she relaxed and let him lead her along, the warm feeling abating as
she kept her mind on her task. She was not sure how this was supposed to go, if
he was used to women simply falling under his spell or resisting a bit at
first. It made sense that there was a lot of variety in women’s reactions to
his advances, and so she decided as they walked that Betty wasn’t going to play
too hard to get.

“Do
you have a car?” he asked.

She
nodded and pointed. “That way.” And for a moment she was overcome with fear at
her car’s California plates and the registration card fastened to the steering
column that said “Marie Doyle” rather than Betty Somebody. She would just have
to keep him talking, she told herself. The incubi were not expecting the women
they picked up to be lying, after all. She was paranoid and afraid and told
herself to calm down. She knew far more about the creature at her side than he
could ever imagine.

“Is
your place far?” he asked.

“No.”

“Maybe
we could get away from the crowds here and talk a little more easily there.”

“All
right,” she said, giving him a bright smile that he returned.
And this is the way it goes
, she thought
as they walked and chatted,
day after
day, woman after woman. The poor things. Poor, misguided, trusting little
things
.

* * * * * * * *

On
the short drive to Melrose, the man who called himself Trent said very little
about himself, but instead kept asking questions of Marie. It was not, she
realized, a tactic meant to test her or trip her up, but rather a way to keep
the focus off him. Julian Piedmont and his followers had likely educated the
demons on Hollywood and Los Angeles and the general ways a naïve young woman
might be lured into a bedroom, but Marie doubted they had gone beyond the
superficial. As it was, Marie kept her answers vague, not having thought
through her Betty identity at all thoroughly. To keep any awkward silences
between them from seeming too uncomfortable, she turned on the radio shortly
after pulling out of the parking lot along Hollywood Boulevard; an energetic
Dorsey tune played most of the way down to Melrose and her little house.

As
she pulled the Chevy into the driveway, she thought of Tom waiting inside and
of how he would have been listening for the sound of her return. Even now, he
should be getting up from wherever he had been sitting to peek through the
blinds and then go hide until needed. For just a second, Marie felt panic at the
thought that this might be one of the times when Tom responded poorly to stress
and excitement, his battle fatigue triggered by fears of what he and Marie were
about to do. But then she told herself that if she walked into the house to
find Tom in the same incapacitated state she had seen after Jasper’s death, the
incubus would likely flee, and she and Tom would at the least get away
unscathed.

Feeling
a bit apprehensive regardless, she led the demon up the same steps she had
climbed with Tom the night before and opened the front door of her house. She
immediately felt wrong having him here; it would have been better to opt for a
motel room somewhere, she told herself. But there was nothing for it now. The
being was in her house, and with any luck it would not leave alive.

She
cringed inwardly when he pointed to the photograph on top of her bookcase. “Not
your boyfriend I hope.”

“Him?
Don’t be silly.” She laughed, hoping it did not sound nervous. “That’s my
brother.” She gently touched the frame and added, “He died in the war.”

“I’m
so sorry to hear that,” he said. He stepped in front of her, took her by both
hands, and looked deeply into her eyes. It was a different look now, not the
same sincere, confident and hungry look she had seen before. It was a look of
possession. The woman on the receiving end of this gaze belonged to him. In his
mind, there was no doubt. And Marie felt sure that in most women’s minds the
same would be true. She did not feel the same way, but knew she still needed to
playact, and so she let him hold her hands, and she stared up into his eyes
without blinking. “You poor thing,” he said now.

“I’m
not so poor,” she said coyly.

“I’ll
say.” In a fluid motion, he released her hands and slipped his own around her
waist, stepping closer and bending to kiss her.

It
happened so suddenly, and she was not prepared. Afraid of what the incubus
could do to her, she turned her cheek just before his lips met hers.

“What’s
this?” he said, holding her firmly.

She
pulled free of his grasp, but took only one step away from him. “I just met
you,” she said.

He
smiled slyly. “You didn’t just bring me here to talk. I can see it in your
eyes.”

Wishful thinking,
thought Marie.

“I
might know what you mean,” she said, trying not to look up at him, so that he
would not have the chance to kiss her. “But I need a drink first.”

“Well,
I need you out of that sweater,” he said.

“My
God!” she said with a nervous giggle. “You
are
a naughty boy, aren’t you? Just let me get a little drinky first, okay? I have
Scotch and wine. Which do you want?”

“Neither,”
he said. “All I need is you.”

His
persistence was making her nervous and frightened, and she thought herself a
fool for having thought she could control the situation. Quickly turning toward
the kitchen, she said, “But it’s sad to drink alone, you know?”

“I
suppose,” he said, reluctance in his voice. “Scotch then. Maybe you’ll stop
playing hard to get then.”

She
struggled to keep here voice from trembling and said, “Just give me a minute,
okay? Why don’t you have a seat?” She hoped that she did not walk too quickly
from the room, but it was all she could do to keep from running.

In
the kitchen, her hands trembled as she opened the little vial of powder she had
prepared this morning—double the dosage of Nembutal that Tom’s doctors
had prescribed to help him sleep. It would have been easy to call out to Tom,
to have him come rushing into the living room with the Luger and blow the thing
to pieces, and she had to force herself to take deep breaths to calm herself as
she poured the powder into a glass and followed it with Scotch. She quickly
poured another Scotch for herself and gulped it down before pouring one more
and stirring the drugged one with a spoon.

“Okay,”
she whispered, touching the St. Lucy cross through the fabric of the sweater.
As she told herself that nothing had gone wrong, that everything was as she and
Tom had planned it, she picked up the two glasses, keeping the drugged drink in
her left hand.
I know more about you than
you know about me
, she thought, and the memory of all the time she’d spent
studying with Jasper gave her strength.

Then
she went back into the front room to find the incubus sitting on her sofa. He
stood when she entered and met her halfway, taking the glass she extended
toward him. They clinked glasses and drank.

“Mmmm,”
she said with a smile. “That’s warm going down.” She watched with satisfaction
as the Tyrone Power look-alike emptied his glass and set it down on an end
table.

“Now
let’s see what other warm things we can find.”

“All
right, sweetie,” Marie said, taking his hand. “Come back to my bedroom, okay?”

“You’re
trembling,” he said, squeezing her hand. “Do I frighten you?”

Marie
felt herself flush. Though he had taken the Nembutal, his power might still be
immeasurable, and she realized that in spite of all her studying, she had no
idea what he was capable of or how he would react if he sensed a trap before
the drug took effect. She smiled at him and squeezed back. “No,” she said
quietly. “I’m just…excited is all, I guess. There’s something about you. You’re
not like anyone I’ve ever…been with before.”

He
smiled broadly. “You’re right, my dear. Let me show you how different.”

She
nodded. Just above a whisper, she said, “Come on, then.”

When
they reached her bedroom, she pulled down the shades and turned on the light,
trying hard not to be too obvious as she looked at the slightly open closet
door. Then she turned to face her victim. He still stood in the doorway, not
having moved from the spot where she had released his hand.

“Okay,”
she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m ready.”

The
incubus came a step closer, and Marie saw it wobble on its legs. At the same
time, she saw a look of panic in its eyes, so she moved to begin lifting her
sweater over her head. She had only to pull it above her belly when the thing
at her threshold fell to the floor, turning under its own weight and going down
like a corkscrew.

“Jesus
Christ!” she said in sheer relief as she lowered the sweater and stood up.
Cautiously, she stepped toward the body on the floor, grateful for the
knowledge she had inadvertently gotten from Laura Tremaine’s experiment in
drugging her demon lover.

Before
she got two steps closer to the body, her closet door opened, and Tom came out
holding the baseball bat. “Careful,” he said, coming up beside her.

She
threw her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. He held her
tight, the bat still in his hand. “Oh my God, Tom,” she gasped. “I was so
scared.”

“I
know. You did good, though. But now we’ve got to finish him.”

She
nodded. “At least he’s out now.”

“Maybe
not completely. Here.” He let go of her and handed her the bat. “Brain him if
he starts coming to.”

Marie
did not know how hard she would need to swing the bat if it came to that or if
she would have good enough aim to hit the thing in the head, but she took the
bat regardless and watched as Tom squatted down to examine the body. She saw
that he had the Luger tucked into the waistband of his pants. Tom touched the
body tentatively and then turned it over, putting his ear down against its
chest.